


As long as you are a doctor

by estel_meleth_amdir



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Happy Ending, Hospital, How Do I Tag, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied Johnlock, Injured John, John is a good doctor, Sherlock saves John, ehehehe, fine i'm done, fuck these tags, john gets shot, oh wow hospital what a tag, shit i lost it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 07:40:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10355454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estel_meleth_amdir/pseuds/estel_meleth_amdir
Summary: Inspired by the imagine:'Imagine if John's taking it on himself to tell Sherlock how much pressure to put on the wound even if he's the one bleeding out... and Sherlock's asking him questions because he knows while John is being a good doctor- even indirectly for himself- he's not lapsing into unconsciousness.'John gets shot during a case. Sherlock knows how to keep him alive.My first fic (plus my first language is not English) so please be gentle... :D





	

Sherlock’s heart skipped a beat when he heard the shot and John’s scream. Unknown powers rose inside his body and he managed to punch the man in front of him hard. He caught him off guard when he heard his nose crack. The guy winced as his head hit the floor and laid there holding his nose. Another shot rang in his ears.

The detective turned around immediately. ‘JOHN!’, he shouted and rushed over where he expected his friend. He scanned the scenery and found John leaning against the wall, sitting in a dark corner.   
‘Seven hells, John!’, he hissed and rushed over to the smaller man. Yond breathed heavily, one hand pressed to his stomach where a dark red spread over his shirt. His gun laid on the floor next to him.  
With shock in his eyes, as if he couldn’t catch what happened here, he looked up at Sherlock. ‘I’ve been… I’ve been shot.’, he stated and stared at his blood covered hand. ‘Again!’

Sherlock suddenly regretted asking for John’s help with his current case. He should never have brought his flatmate here.  
‘What happened to the attacker?’ he tried to figure out where the gunman was. At the same time he texted Lestrade to ask for help. He had to safe time.  
‘Shot him.’ John explained and nodded to the opposite side of the room where the dead body was spread across the floor.   
John groaned as a wave of pain rushed through his body. ‘Sherlock…’ he panted while trying to catch his breath. ‘This isn’t good, it’s very bad to be honest.’

‘John, you are a good doctor! You can do this!’  
The ex-military doctor grimaced when Sherlock ripped his shirt around the gunshot wound.  
‘At the moment… I am the patient.’, John hissed through gritted teeth.  
‘At the MOMENT you have to be both of it! Here is no one else to safe your life.’, the detective retorted.   
‘Sherlock, you…’

‘Dr. Watson we have a patient. Shotgun wound Brown L 380 in abdomen, area liver and kidney. Lost half a litre of blood but loses more. Tell me what to do!’  
As absurd as it was when John heard this words it was like a button pressed in his head. It could be described as ‚survival mode‘ or ‚battle station‘. That was one of the things he took home from war.

‘Stop the loss of blood immediately. You need an absorbent material. For example your scarf.’  
Without hesitation Sherlock ripped the fabric from around his neck and baled it.  
‘And now?’ Of course he knew what to do. But he was also aware that this was the only possibility to keep John from losing consciousness. As long as he had to save a life, even if it was his own… like hell he would pass out!

‘You have to… press. Here...’ The blonde gestured towards the wound. Sherlock did as he said. ‘Use more pressure, Sherlock, damnit! When you started pressing it to the wound… you can’t… shove it around anymore.’  
John breathed uneven and when Sherlock used more pressure he gasped for air through his teeth.  
‘How about… calling an… ambulance?’  
‘Oh John, it’s already on its‘ way and will be here in about… less than 5 minutes.’

‘Thank… god.’ Immediately the strengths of the smaller man seamed to leave him. His body slumped down on the wall. His breath only went in spurts.   
‘John?’ Sherlock searched for his friends‘ pulse at his wrist. He stated that John‘s pulse was way too low.  
‘John!’, he tried to soak into John‘s mind. The detective grabbed his chin and lifted his head to see if he was even with him. John‘s eyelids perked up weakly and he looked at Sherlock.

‘Dr. Watson!’, Sherlock explained insistently. ‘Our patient loses too much blood. His pulse is weak and his breathing uneven. I fear he will black out.’  
‘If he… loses consciousness…. we may… lose him till… the ambulance is here.’  
‘What must I do?’ The detective scanned his blogger desperately. Of course he knew how to handle these wound but he wanted, under all circumstances, to avoid that John would black out.  
‘Keep him conscious.’, John panted quietly. ‘Sherlock, I… I don’t want… to die…’  
The detective gritted his teeth. ‘You won’t! Nobody dies on my watch! And certainly not when Dr John Hamish Watson is the treating doctor!’

‘Check out the… wound.’  
Sherlock did as he was told. Carefully he removed the scarf and tried to wipe away some of the blood.   
‘The bullet has entered smoothly, I think maximum ten centimetre inside of the body. IF no time is wasted it should be operatively removable but…’  
‘But?’  
‘I fear that inner organs are injured at least streaked. The blood loss doesn’t decrease.’  
‘Scarf!’ John ordered but the trembling in his voice took the sharpness of his command. 

‘John? John! Stay with me, do you hear me?’ Hastily Sherlock pressed his scarf to the wound again. ‘Dr. Watson if you stop now we may lose the patient!’  
‘I… I…’  
Sherlock let out a sigh of relief as the noise of sirens got louder and louder. At first Lestrade jumped out of his car.  
‘What happened?!’  
‘What does it look like? Someone used us as his target for shooting exercises!’  
‘Is he…? Oh god!’ Greg stared at John with wide eyes.  
‘No, for god’s sake! I know what to do! He lost consciousness as soon as the sirens were near. Where is that fucking ambulance?’ he shouted over his shoulder. This all went too slow!

He slipped his hands under John’s body and lifted him up without effort. Then he rushed on towards the paramedics to place John at the sluggish. The blond haired was surrounded by paramedics instantly.  
‘Shall I take you to the hospital?’ the detective inspector asked.  
‘Yes.’ Sherlock replied simply.

__________________________________________________________________________________

Sherlock stood in the hallway of the hospital with Greg Lestrade, staring behind the doctors who ran straight into the operation room with John. He had looked pale and the oxygen mask over his face didn’t make him look better.  
As the doors went shut and the voices faded Sherlock was uncomfortable with the sudden silence. He stood there on the corridor with his gory shirt and stared at the door.  
‘Sherlock, you should take a cab home and change your clothes. Maybe take a shower or try to eat something. I’ll stay here.’ Greg put a hand on his shoulder which Sherlock shook off.  
‘No. I’ll wait here for John. I can’t leave him here.’

Lestrade sighed and rubbed his forehead. ‘Fine. *I* will drive to Bakerstreet and ask Mrs. Hudson for some clothes of yours. I won’t be long.’  
When Greg was gone, Sherlock’s spirit came back to his body. He sat down on a chair and rested his head on the wall to close his eyes for a moment.  
Minutes felt like hours and nothing happened. The people that came by stared at him because of his shirt and his hands but he didn’t care. Every thought in his head circled around the fact that he didn’t know what happened to John in this moment. Was all of this his fault?

Later a nurse came up to him, offering him some towels and a cup of coffee.   
‘You should at least clean your hands a bit.’ She handed him both and smiled weakly at him.  
‘Thank you’ the detective said simply and tried to rub some of the dried blood of his hands. JOHNS blood. That was the worst thing. To know that this was blood John actually needed. Maybe it was exactly this amount of blood, that soaked Sherlocks shirt, that John would need to survive?

‘Do you think he will be alright?’ the detective whispered.  
‘You did a great job before the ambulance came. Plus, he’s a fighter. If he had lost consciousness earlier this could have been fatal.’ She gingerly placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘I’m sure he will fight through this mess.’  
‘I really hope so.’ Sherlock sighed as she stood up to go back to her work.

When Greg came back he found Sherlock still sitting there leaning against the wall. He looked tired and his hair was dishevelled from his hands running through it repeatedly.   
Lestrade handed him a new shirt and jacket wordless. Sherlock took it but refused to change clothes until he was sure John was okay.  
So they sat there in silence while the stars faded and the sun rose.

Two hours later a door opened and a doctor rushed towards the two med. Greg had fallen asleep a while ago. Sherlock instead had been awake the whole time. He shifted in his chair while he eyed the doctor observantly.  
His mind screamed “good news!!” but he was too tired and worn out to trust his own mind right now. Sherlock bumped his elbow to Lestrade’s peaceful body to wake him up.

‘Sherlock Holmes?’, the mid-thirty American (who had two cats and cheated on his pregnant wife with one of the nurses - Sherlock needed to shut his mind down!) asked and Sherlock nodded.  
‘You are here for John Watson, is that right? You are registered as his emergency contact.’  
‘Is that so?’ The detective asked surprised. He hadn’t expected this but it made sense since they lived together.  
‘Well, yes…’  
‘So, how is he? I don’t want to hurry but is he alright?’ Sherlock asked in a pleading tone.  
‘Yes. I’m happy to tell you that we removed the bullet and save the injured organs. He will wake up in about half an hour.’ The doctor stated with a glimpse to the clock.  
‘Can I see him?’ he questioned.  
‘Of course you can. It will be good for him to have people around when he wakes up. Room 308.’  
‘Thank you very much.’ Sherlock shook the doctor’s hand before hurrying down the hallway.

‘Sherlock!’ Lestrade called after him, causing him to stop and turn around. Greg stood there with his hands in his pockets and smiling. ‘Relay my regards!’  
The curly head smiled thankfully and waved at his friend before returning to rushing to John’s room. He was grateful that Greg gave him the opportunity to be alone with John after what had happened.

Sherlock settled besides John’s bed and arranged the chair so he could stretch out his legs. He felt tired but not enough to sleep properly. So, he snoozed but took John’s hand in his so he would feel when he woke up.  
Not long after he had entered the room, John moved and his eyes fluttered open. Sherlock squeezed his hand immediately causing his friend to look at him. He seemed confused as if he didn’t know what had happened.

His eyebrows furrowed as he scanned the room to remember where he was.   
‘You’re at the hospital.’ Sherlock helped him out. ‘You’ve been shot, remember?’  
John blinked. ‘We were on a case, weren’t we?’ He seemed to recall.  
‘Exactly.’ Sherlock approved. He felt terrible about this whole thing. ‘John, I’m so sorry….’  
‘You don’t have to be.’ John said gently. ‘Why would you?’  
‘Because this is all my fault.’ The detective whispered hoarsely and tried to blink the tear in his eyes away. He couldn’t cry here, not in front of John! He was supposed to be calm and unruffled.

‘Hey, Sherlock…’ John squeezed his hand and rubbed his thumb over the back of it. ‘You don’t have to be sorry, you know? If it wasn’t for you I could be dead by now.’  
‘In first place you wouldn’t even lie in a bloody hospital.’  
‘You saved my life, Sherlock! Don’t you try convince me otherwise, I know it!’ He smiled weakly at his detective. ‘I don’t remember much but I remember you giving me work to do so I couldn’t die there!’  
Sherlock wasn’t convinced yet.

‘Come here, you bloody moron!’ He reached for Sherlock’s arm and pulled him down. The detective’s cheeks turned bright red when John pressed a peck to them.   
‘I could never let you die.’ Sherlock confessed.  
‘I know. The same counts for me with you.’  
‘Thank god I always bring my doctor.’ Sherlock said with a small smile and leant down to press his lips to John’s forehead.  
‘Don’t you ever scare me like this again!’ he whispered before lowering his lips again, this time to John’s mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> So this was it. My first fic. I really don't know how to feel about it. :D


End file.
